


Productivity

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold is about to fail doing his contribution to the artificial conception of his first child. Dr. Belle French is very happy to assist him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Productivity

He can't.

Everything has been taken care of except for this final step, but he can't.

The only barrier between him and fatherhood is the transfer of some of his semen from himself to the small container given to him, but he  _can't_.

Dreading to think how much time has passed since he was ushered into this room, Gold is only further discouraged when he desperately looks down and takes in the pathetic sight of his soft prick in his hand. But no amount of willpower and intent staring is going to change the fact that he's flushed with mortification and chafing rather than the arousal required to get the job done.

It's absurd, really. This may be hardly the first time that this happens to him, but it's been years –  _decades –_  since his ex wife's mocking laughter. There's no one ridiculing him now and besides, the outcome will be very much worth the effort this time.

Reminding himself once more that Dr. French can start the process of artificially impregnating the anonymous birthing mother of his choosing as soon as he has gotten this over with, the pawnbroker grinds his teeth and ignores his discomfort to focus on the task at hand.

Trying to make his head as empty as possible, he stares stubbornly at the screen in front of him, bringing his attention back to the vibrant librarian who's being pleasured by a gentleman kneeling at her feet, the two of them surrounded by bookshelves. The short movie was the only one he found remotely enjoyable among the variation of 'stimulating' material that was provided, but it's hardly doing anything for him.

Unbidden, Gold thinks of the doctor with whom he has gotten to his point, from his first appointment a few months ago until to the moment she guided him into this room. This time, while vigorously trying to stroke himself to hardness, he isn't thinking of her encouraging smiles and seemingly genuine interest in his quest for fatherhood.

He recalls her eyes and mouth, both of them equally stunning, and her dark curls and pale skin, of the curves he can't  _not_  look at every once in a while, no matter how hard he tries. He thinks of one more button of her blouse than usual being undone today, enabling tantalizing glances at the top of her breasts in the few moments he had been incapable of keeping his gaze on her face.

The images provoke a twitch right where he needs it, but the self-loathing rushing through him at the realization of what he is doing kills whatever lust there was within him.

Sighing angrily, Gold decides that enough is enough, that for once he should walk away from achieving his goal at all costs. If years of a miserable marriage didn't result in a single child for him to love and cherish, he definitely shouldn't become a father after all by pleasuring himself to the thought of the only person in a very long time who has shown kindness to him.

Telling himself that it's for the best that he won't take part in the conception of a child like this and that he in all likelihood will never see the doctor again who gave him something to look forward to each week, the landlord puts himself back in his boxers and returns himself to his previously impeccable state.

It's almost a relief in its own right when he turns off the screen with the remote control at his side. But before he can pick up the still empty container and return it to Dr. French with an excuse he hasn't made up yet, there's a knock on the locked door.

"Mr. Gold? Are you all right in there?"

The landlord stills, having no idea how to react... especially when the sound of Dr. French's voice sends a shiver through him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she adds, sounding ever so patient, "but it seems to me like you're having some trouble."

"I am, yes," he admits, his voice rough to his own ears. "But it's no matter. I... I've changed my mind. I no longer wish to continue with the procedure."

There's a moment of silence on the other side of the door. Against his better judgment, Gold hopes that this will be the end of all this.

"If you truly no longer wish to become a father, that's of course a perfectly right decision to make. But something tells me that you  _do_ want to raise a child of your own, but that something happened in there which made you question the means rather than the goal."

"Right as always, Dr. French," he chuckles humorlessly, not even  _wanting_ to attempt to conceal his true motives and fears in the face of her somewhat terrifying ability to read him like an open book.

"It's probably easier to have this conversation when there isn't a door between us," she says, fully reminding him of the fact that they are currently located in two different rooms.

"It would be, yes."

There's something about her, something  _right_ and almost magical, that makes him want to talk to her despite the highly embarrassing nature of the topic... despite his thoroughly inappropriate feelings for her.

"Are you decent?"

Just in case, he makes certain that the screen previously displaying porn is indeed switched off. Subsequently, he looks critically down his body, establishing once more that not a single detail of his appearance is like it shouldn't be.

"I am."

"Can I come in?"

"I'll unlock the door," he says, moving to get off the admittedly comfortable lounge chair to open the door for her.

"There's no need. I've got a master key with me."

"You do?" he blurts out, feeling...  _something_ at the discovery that she, in theory, could have walked in on him at any point.

"There isn't a single room in this building I don't have access to. It  _is_ my clinic after all."

"Of course," he mutters, feeling particularly stupid.

"I'm coming in now, Mr. Gold."

He doesn't quite look at her when she enters the room where he was supposed to make his contribution to the conception of the child he wants to raise, approaching him right after yet another failure has occurred in his miserable life.

"Is it all right if I sit down next to you?" she asks when she stands next to the chair where he is still seated.

He nods, despite being thoroughly aware that she means to sit on the chair which he's already occupying. The seat is broad and both of them have a small posture, but their sides are pressed against one another regardless when she settles herself right next to him. Still, it doesn't unnerve him, for even now there's something unexplainably calming about Dr. French.

"What happened?" she inquires, with the same gentleness that has entranced him in the past few months.

"You can better ask what did  _not_ happen," he mutters, staring at a spot on the floor in front of him.

He hopes that she'll understand what he's referring to and that he won't have to explain in any more words what just went wrong. To his relief, the soft noise of sympathy she makes informs him that she indeed knows what he's talking about.

"Has that happened before?" she asks kindly. "Or rather, has it  _not_ happened before?"

"This is hardly the first time," he admits, lowering his head. He may have grown to implicitly trust Dr. French, didn't feel as uneasy as he had expected when discussing his general medical history with her, but that doesn't mean that he's remotely comfortable now.

"For how long have you had problems?"

"For a long time," he forces himself to say, dreading to think what she might think of him now that she knows this after all.

"When was the last time you ejaculated?" she asks with a kind patience that leaves him unable to let her question go unanswered.

"A  _long time ago_."

"Did you ever seek any help, professional or otherwise?"

The landlord shakes his head, still not looking at her.

"Why not?"

The question almost escapes his attention when she rests her hand on his knee. The touch has to be casual, but he feels like he's burning up in a way that's both wonderful and terrifying.

"There's no point," he mutters.

"I don't think that's necessarily true," she says, lightly squeezing his knee.

"There's no point because there's no  _need_ for me to... function."

"I suppose it indeed doesn't matter if you don't have a need, regardless of the functioning of your body. But I'd say it matters an awful lot when you try to  _tell_ yourself that you don't have a need  _because_ of what your body does or doesn't do."

"No woman is interested in me," he says harshly, "and for good reason."

"That's a different discussion altogether," she says, her hand still on his knee. "For the record, I don't pretend to know you very well personally, but I like to think that I got to know you enough in the past months to be quite certain that you're not nearly as unattractive as you think you are."

Before he can fully process this particular change of direction of their conversation, she gestures at the screen he was watching until a few minutes ago.

"Was there something on there you enjoyed?"

"Not really," he says, wondering just how much crazier this day can get now that he appears to be discussing porn with the doctor he has developed highly inappropriate and doubtlessly unwanted feelings for.

"So there was something that you liked a little?"

"The movie about the librarian was somewhat tolerable," he mutters, his gaze still firmly at the same spot on the floor.

"I like that one myself," she says enthusiastically, as if they're talking about... well, anything but the sort of material he just watched. "But I take it you didn't truly like it?"

"Not really, no."

"Is there anything else I could get you? Something you can actually enjoy?"

He stills for as far as he wasn't motionless already, the conversation going in a direction that should be avoided at all costs.

"No, Dr. French, there isn't."

"Is there no fantasy whatsoever that might help you? Nothing at all?"

There's something in her voice that gives him the very unpleasant feeling that she somehow  _knows_ whom he was thinking of before he gave up on his pathetic attempt altogether.

"There isn't," he grinds through his teeth, not allowing himself to wonder what might happen if she were to somehow approve of his sinful longing for her, if he could explore his desire for her without being crippled by self-loathing.

"Mr. Gold, will you look at me?"

He doesn't want to, not with ever present roots of fear within him taking hold of his heart. But then her hand is at his face, fingertips brushing his cheek with a tenderness that has him choking back sudden tears.

"Will you  _look_ at me?"

The landlord does, eventually, meeting her gaze for the first time since she stepped into the room where he tried to pleasure himself with her on his mind only moments ago.

Her face is as lovely, as distracting as always, from her kind smile to her spectacular blue eyes, which are understanding and supportive even now. But what truly catches his attention is the sight of what must be her bra peeking out from underneath her blouse in the periphery of his vision.

Unable to help himself, Gold looks downwards, swallowing heavily when he notices that practically half of the buttons of her blouse are undone, a mesmerizing slice of blue lace and flawless pale skin visible to his treacherous eyes between the two edges of her outer clothing.

"Are you attracted to me, Mr. Gold?"

Her earth-shattering question is so casual, so gentle, that it doesn't immediately dawn on him that she just voiced one of the few questions he hoped she would never ask him.

When he finally manages to look away from her partially exposed cleavage, he finds that there's still nothing but acceptance written on her face rather than the disgust he presumed and feared.

"Yes," he replies, miserably, unable to soften the truth.

"There's no harm in that, you know," she says with an understanding that he doesn't deserve. "None whatsoever."

"How can there not be?" he manages to ask, hoping that the way he awkwardly gestures between the two of them makes clear to her that he's painfully aware that he has none of her many qualities... that he has barely any qualities whatsoever.

"Because I'm attracted to you as well."

Once more, her world-shaking declaration is delivered with a matter-of-factness that wholly belies the meaning of her statement.

Gold can only stare at her in bewilderment, his mouth falling open as he tells himself that he can't possibly have heard this correctly. His ears must have deceived him... indeed, at this point this might as well be a bizarre dream, his desperate subconsciousness playing tricks on him somehow.

"Did you think about me when you were masturbating?" she asks, giving him no chance whatsoever to recover even a resemblance of control.

"I did," he blurts out, pointedly looking away from her in shame.

"Didn't it help?" she asks, gesturing at the still empty container.

"It did, at first," he grinds out, his face burning, "but then I realized what I was doing and I... I  _couldn't_. It's beyond wrong to think of you while..."

"I appreciate that consideration, Mr. Gold, I really do. But knowing what you do now, knowing that I would be  _flattered_ to have you thinking of me while masturbating... would it still feel wrong to you?"

He can only stare at her in shock and confusion, yet more so when Dr. French lays her hand on his bicep and caresses him lightly.

"You said that you didn't enjoy any of the videos. What about you make up a story of your own? To create a fantasy that  _does_ work for you... a fantasy about  _me_?"

"What are you saying?" he rasps, grasping her meaning but unable to believe that she truly suggests him to do what he thinks she is.

"Try touching yourself while thinking of me," she says gently.

"But..."

"I really don't object, if that's what you're worried about. If anything, I'd love to stay here, if you don't mind. I'd really like to... help out."

One moment, he's trying to tell her that he couldn't –  _shouldn't –_  possibly do anything along those lines... and then he looks at her questioningly.

"But how..."

"How about you imagine that the two of us meet in regular circumstances? Just a man and a woman who fall for each other?"

"We couldn't possibly..."

No matter how much a long denied part of himself would do nothing rather than give in to whatever Dr. French has in mind, it's simply impossible for him to imagine her falling for him under any circumstances.

"You told me that there's a library in Storybrooke, didn't you?"

"Yes," he says, only more confused, "but it's been closed for years and..."

"Imagine that I moved to your town one day to reopen the library. You know I love reading and seriously considered becoming a librarian before I chose to study medicine instead."

He nods weakly, although the moments in which they chatted about her childhood dream to become a librarian have taken a rather surreal turn now.

"So imagine I'm the new librarian in Storybrooke," she says, moving slightly closer towards him. Gold has to hold back a groan at the feeling of her chest brushing against his arm. "You said you didn't own that building, so you probably won't be my landlord. But something tells me I'd show up in your pawnshop to take a look at all those treasures you described before you know it."

"You probably would, yes," he replies, smiling a little despite himself.

"What would you do if I appeared in your shop to browse your merchandise?"

"I bet I'd be too bewildered to do anything but stare at you," he replies, finding it shockingly easy to get caught up in the fantasy world she describes. "While trying to make certain that you won't notice, of course."

"Why am I not surprised," she murmurs, sounding more bemused than anything else. "But how about when I approach you to ask your advice? I want to buy myself a gift, to celebrate the reopening of the library... what would you say to me?"

"I wouldn't be able to say anything," he admits. "I could probably still only stare."

"And I would like it," she breathes, her words whispering against his ear, causing him to shiver in an alarming, but not unpleasant way. "What would you think when looking at me like that?"

"I would think how beautiful you are. How radiant and  _gorgeous_. How privileged I would be for having your company... that I shouldn't ruin it by looking at you like that, by  _thinking_ like that."

"What makes you so convinced that I don't like your attention? What makes it seem so unlikely to you that I can be intrigued by you, that I would love to get to know you better... and to admire you in those beautiful suits you wear... or without them?"

"Dr. French, I..."

"Call me Belle," she says quietly, shushing him. "And close your eyes, if you like."

He immediately grants her last request, mentally whispering the first name he has read over and over again in the brochure of her clinic... the name he dreams of at night.

"Imagine that I've found the perfect gift for myself among all those items in your shop," she continues. "I come up to the counter. What happens next?"

"You have chosen an antique book," he mutters, finding it yet easier to get lost in the impossible tale she conjures in his mind now that his eyes are closed. "A first edition of Jane Eyre. I... I'm tempted to give it to you for free."

"But you wouldn't do that, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," he mutters. If she hadn't been with him right there and then, Gold would have grimaced at the irony that his fertility doctor knows him better than anyone else in the world. "I would ask you to come back to pick another gift some time instead of paying."

"I would be back in no time," she says. He can practically hear the smile in her voice. "And you would frequently visit me in the library, too."

"I would, yes," he agrees. It only makes sense after all for him to be as disarmed by her in this fantasy world as in reality.

"How long until our first, proper date?"

"Months, probably. At the very least."

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" she asks, placing her hand on the inside of his thigh.

"A few weeks then," he gasps when she lightly caresses him.

"What would our first date be like?"

"I... I'd make you dinner, at my home. I'd love to take you out, but we couldn't go anywhere in Storybrooke without being gawked at."

"I love the idea of having you all to myself. Although I would also like for everyone to know that you are  _mine_."

"I'll keep that in mind for when there might come a moment that  _I_ might be somewhat used to that."

"What happens after we have dinner? An incredible dinner, of course, because I've already gathered that you're a wonderful cook."

"I... I don't know," he mutters, his mind unable to process a scenario in which she would spend time with him at his home, or anywhere else outside her clinic for that matter.

"I'd love to spend the evening at your home. We'd have tea and chocolate."

"We would, yes," he says, recalling that they established their mutual love for those two last month.

"How about we play a game of chess?"

"You prefer Scrabble," he mutters, shivering at the notion, no matter how imaginary, of the two of them spending an evening together playing their favorite board games, just the two of them in the privacy and comfort of his home.

"Then we'll play Scrabble next," she simply says. "Although both of us are probably too distracted by each other to focus on the game."

"There'll be candlelight," he finds himself saying.

"And we'll listen to our favorite classical songs."

"It'll be perfect," he breathes, seeing the made-up evening play out in its head.

"Yes, it will be. And how does our perfect first date end?"

"I drive you home and walk you to your front door to make certain that you arrive at your apartment safely."

"What happens before I unlock the door? Will you kiss me?"

"I wouldn't. I'd be afraid to ruin the night... to ruin  _us_. But I... I would  _want_ to."

"So do I. How about we settle for a compromise?"

Before Gold can ask what she means, the very real woman at his side presses her lips against his cheek. He gasps for breath in bewilderment, thinking that this can't possibly be truly happening... but no amount of digging his nails into his palms changes anything about the heavenly sensation of her mouth against his skin.

"How long until our first proper kiss?" she asks.

With her mouth still against his cheek, he replies without considering his answer, fully giving in to the fantasy they're creating.

"A few weeks... a few weeks until I dare to do more than kiss your lips... or hold you when we sleep."

"How does it happen?"

"It just does," he says, the quiver in her voice leaving him shivering. "No particular reason. We're at my house and you give me a  _look_ , and I finally realize that there's nothing to be afraid of, that you feel about me the way I feel about you. You see the way I look back at you, you lean in to me and..."

Gold can't help but groan out loud at the images in his mind.

"What happens next?" she asks, a rough edge to her voice which makes him downright eager to share this with her.

"We kiss unlike ever before," he manages to say, desire welling up inside him. "Your tongue is in my mouth and we hold each other tightly. Somehow, I know exactly what to do. You... you taste so wonderful, Belle. And the way you feel against me..."

He whimpers when the sensations in his mind mix with those in the real world as she slides her hand further along the inside of his leg, gently caressing his upper thigh.

"When can I get my hands on you?"

"Right afterwards. Neither of us can keep upright and we stumble to the nearest arm chair. You fall into my lap and... well, you stay there. You're on top of me and we kiss and kiss and  _kiss_ , and we can't keep our hands off each other. I want to touch you everywhere at once, but I have to settle for caressing your hair and your side. Your curls are so lovely, Belle, and the curve of your hip..."

Panting heavily, Gold can't put the images in his mind into words any longer, his brain stuttering to a halt at the notion of touching the woman he has fallen in love with like this.

"I can't get enough of you," she whispers into his ear, her hand on his thigh still moving upwards slowly but very surely, her nails scratching him lightly through the fabric of his trousers. "I move as closely to you as I can, wanting to feel as much of you as possible. I love the way you taste, the way you feel against me... the way you hold me and say my name, like you can't believe that this is truly happening."

His eyes still tightly closed, Gold nods furiously, having half forgotten that the scenario she's describing isn't actually real.

"I want to make love to you," she continues, pressing her breasts more firmly against his bicep, "but both of us are too far gone to manage anything other than to find release as quickly as possible. I want to see you  _undone._ I grab your hair and never stop kissing you, moving against you until..."

His eyes burst open when the illusion loses its hold on him - and not because of the embarrassing awareness that he would lose himself within moments if she were to rub herself against him like that. It turns out that reality is yet more humiliating than that... that's the reason that they're in this situation in the first place, after all.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her voice filled with concern while her fingers still knead the inside of his thigh.

"I... I want to believe everything you say, but I can't," he tries to explain, staring blindly at a blank spot on the wall right ahead of him so he doesn't have to face her. "No matter how lovely and beautiful you are, no matter how much I  _want_ you, I wouldn't actually be able to get..."

"I think the fantasy worked better than you think," Dr. French says quietly when he struggles to find a somewhat acceptable way to express his problem.

Not understanding what she's talking about, he looks at her questioningly, only to find her looking pointedly at his crotch. Following her meaningful gaze, Gold gasps when he notices at last that his arousal isn't limited to his fantasy, the tell-tale bulge at the front of his trousers far from imaginary... and that her hand is in fact a mere inch away from touching the part of him that has come to life against all his expectations.

He looks back at her eyes, those  _gorgeous_ blue eyes, feeling both mesmerized and uneasy. This may have been her goal all along, but the fact that they're sitting together now like this reminds him unpleasantly of his no longer concealed attraction to her... the attraction which indeed couldn't be much more revealed than it is now.

"We can take this whichever way you want, Mr. Gold," she says gently, maintaining eye contact.

Failing to swallow away the lump in his throat, Gold can't deny that she just proclaimed that his feelings for her are mutual... that she would like to 'help out' with his predicament. Her hand still resting so close to where he can't help but want her touch makes these earlier statements both exhilarating and terrifying.

"I... I can't remember the last time this happened," he says. It's the only way he can think of to try to make somewhat clear to her just how out of his depth he is.

"Then let's make this particularly worthwhile, if you're comfortable with that."

"I don't know whether to be relieved or mortified," he admits, hoping that  _this_ might give her an inkling about his state of mind.

She considers him for a moment, still massaging his inner thigh ever so lightly.

"Let's just say that I would be more than happy to  _relieve_ you, Mr. Gold. The choice whether I will or not is entirely yours."

Gold thinks of all the reasons why he shouldn't, all the ways this could –  _will –_  lead to heartbreak and humiliation. He thinks of the for now empty container, of the child that might come from this, no matter how unorthodox the means... of the required equipment that's gradually returning to its usual state now that his tendency to over-analyze gets the better of him again.

He doesn't think at all when Dr. Belle French rests her head on his shoulder and presses a firm kiss against the side of his neck, her breath against his skin whispering of dreams coming true.

"I'd like you to... to touch me," he whispers, determined just this once to do nothing but  _feel_.

"I'm glad, because I'd like to as well," she replies just as quietly, moving yet closer to him. "Feel very free to tell me if there's something you want me to do, and especially if you don't want me to do something."

Gold can only nod stupidly, no longer entirely convinced that the fantasy world she just conjured to life isn't real after all.

His state of physical anticipation may have diminished while they were talking and while he was trying to make sense of all this, but she's got his body's full attention once more when she moves her hand further upwards.

He grunts none too subtly when her fingers brush his hardening length. That doesn't change when she lingers right there for quite a while, as if trying to get him somewhat used to her nearness and acceptance.

"Would you like me to go on with the story we were making up?" she asks, the mere sound of her voice leaving him trembling. "The first time I get to touch all of you, so to speak?"

"I'd like you... could you just... this is more than enough."

"All right," she replies, sounding downright happy. "Then try to relax. You may as well enjoy this, don't you think?"

It's not that she doesn't give him plenty of time to reply to her, but there's just no processing the implication that not only Dr. Belle French is going to touch him so intimately, but that she encourages him to experience it as something more than a purely functional favor.

Indeed, there's no room for thought whatsoever when she shifts her hand one final time. Everything they have shared since she came into the room has led up to this, but nothing could have prepared him for the light friction when she cups him carefully.

His eyes snap firmly shut and he grasps at the arm rest of the chair to find something to hold on to, a low whine escaping him at the by far most pleasurable touch he has known all his life.

"Is this good?" she asks quietly, squeezing him very gently.

He nods furiously, whimpering when she increases her hold slightly.

"You will tell me when you do or don't want me to do something, won't you?"

Gold nods again, and that's the last conscious action he's capable of. Like it's the most normal thing in the world, the woman who has captured the charred remains of his heart starts to rub him slowly but purposefully, her light touch bringing him more quickly to full hardness than he could have thought possible.

"That's it," she breathes, as if she's proud of the way he reacts to her... as if it makes her  _happy,_ both for him and for herself.

All he can do is try to push himself more firmly into her palm in a way he didn't know his body could, his hips bucking intuitively. There's no place for worry about anything, only for the pleasure her hand sends shooting through him.

"Before we go on, let's get more comfortable," she says, caressing him with a featherlight touch rather than ending the contact altogether, as if she knows the panic that such an action would have caused him despite her announcement.

Gold nods to indicate he has heard her, although he doesn't quite see how either of them could get more comfortable given the limitations of their current circumstances. Then again, even when she withdraws her hand with an apologetic smile it's difficult to think of anything but the part of him she isn't touching any longer.

In the blink of an eye, she has helped him out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie... and proceeds to casually unbutton her blouse all the way down, revealing yet more of the forbidden fabric of her bra and tantalizing skin beneath.

"Now let's get these out of the way."

He doesn't understand what she's talking about until he at last manages to look away from her breasts and sees her gesturing at his trousers. Gold nods shakily, realizing only then that they can't exactly fill the container that in a way started all this as long as he's still covered.

"Look away if that makes it easier for you," she says, as if sensing how he fears the increased vulnerability of her necessary suggestion. "Look  _anywhere_  you like."

Despite the implicit invitation, it goes against Gold's every instinct to purposefully look at her chest like that. The prospect does however prove to be very persuasive. Indeed, the sight of her only barely covered curves makes him only more determined to see this through, to face - and give in to - his desire for her.

The distraction helps him to remain somewhat calm when her whispered instructions and their combined efforts get them to the point where she carefully shoves his boxer shorts down his thighs, when he tells himself that  _she_ won't laugh or voice disappointment when seeing him bare.

Which makes it only more awful when she falters right after revealing him, making a sound of disapproval.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she says, her voice entirely void of her earlier enthusiasm.

"I see," he replies coolly, forcing himself to do his very best to come across as indifferent and, above all else, unaffected.

"No, I meant we shouldn't be doing this  _now_."

She hooks her fingers underneath his chin, ever so gently tilting his face to meet his gaze. The complete lack of disgust or disappointment in her expression only confuses him further.

"Why... why not?"

"You must know what you look like, where your touched yourself."

"Believe me, I  _know_ ," he whispers roughly, tears springing to his eyes when he is vividly reminded of his ex wife's frequent and deep-cutting complaints.

"I do want to touch you, Mr. Gold, but I'm afraid that I'll hurt you if I do that now."

Her voice is still kind, soothing, so unlike that of the woman he once was married to. Perhaps Dr. Belle French doesn't want to have her hands on him after all for a reason that has nothing to do with what nature has given him, being as ungenerous with this particular part as the rest of him.

"At least take a look at yourself before you make your decision," she adds.

Taking a quivering breath, he does just that. The additional air in his lungs is a blessing indeed when he takes in the sight of himself, harder than he thought he could be and entirely exposed, her hand resting casually on his upper thigh.

Only once he has somewhat processed that highly unusual visual, it occurs to him that the discomfort he experienced earlier isn't limited to shame and frustration. Finally taking a proper look at himself, Gold notices for the first time that he practically rubbed himself raw in his stubborn if fruitless attempt to get hard.

"You're chafed," she says quietly, remaining wonderfully close to him despite everything. "Your skin should heal before it's touched like this again."

He looks helplessly at her, inwardly howling at the irony that his body fails him in this whole new way now that he's found someone wonderful who isn't only capable of helping him, but who wants and actually  _offers_ to take care of him.

"You really want me to, don't you?" she asks with something which he dares to define as affection. "Believe me, I want to as well. And I  _will_ , in a few days' time, when your skin has recovered."

Gold wants to agree, he truly does. Having the prospect of doing this after a few days is infinitely more than what he could have imagined... so much better than what he deserves. But the two of them are here, right now; he's fully exposed and he's  _aching_ , moisture leaking from his thoroughly flushed tip.

At that very moment, 'later' might as well mean 'never'.

"Please..."

"It will probably be uncomfortable," she warns, looking at him with something that might be understanding.

He nods in acknowledgment of her words.

"I've got something that will make it easier... something I hoped you would have used yourself, as I suggested."

She stands up and heads for the cabinet on the other side of the room, its contents making his cheeks flush when she initially showed them to him, long before he had any idea of the situation the two of them would be in now. She's back in a moment with a bottle in her hand.

"Will you let me know if you want me to stop, no matter the reason?"

"I will," he replies, if only because he senses she wants him to be aware of this option he can't imagine making use of.

"All right," she says, sitting down right next to him again, settling herself more firmly against him than before while opening the bottle. "This will make it easier for your skin."

Her nearness is enough to drive him half wild, but the prospect of what's going to happen next leaves him panting and shivering in anticipation.

"This will probably be a bit cold at first," she says, squirting a generous amount of a gel of sorts onto her palm.

He nods in understanding once her words register in his mind.

"Here we go," she breathes, shifting until her left arm goes around his back and her only partially covered chest presses firmly against his right side.

That alone is more than enough to leave him gasping in earnest, but it's nothing compared to the pleasure that shoots through him when she carefully closes her right hand around his length. Her touch may have felt divine through his clothing, but it's something else entirely to have her skin directly against his.

" _Yes_ ," he hisses, near endless relief and a demanding need for  _more_ washing over him simultaneously.

The chilliness of what he belatedly realizes to be lubricant feels wonderful against his too hot, tormented skin and there's simply no describing the sensation of her snug, slick grip of her fist on him.

Her first careful stroke has him  _yelping_ , his hips arching off the chair while he can't help throwing his head backwards almost violently.

"Are you all right?" she cries out, the withdrawal of her hand having him crying out again. "This is probably uncomfortable, but it shouldn't be  _painful_! I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"No,  _no,_  please go on, please don't stop," he babbles, unable to think of anything but to find a way for her to continue. "Touch me again, please _,_ it felt so good."

"Oh," she says, something that couldn't possibly be a blush appearing on her cheeks when realization almost visibly dawns. " _Oh_."

" _Please_..." he breathes, both his patheticness and his arousal making him feel utterly desperate.

"Yes, yes, of course! I just didn't realize that I wasn't actually hurting you and..."

The remainder of her reply is lost on him when she strokes him again, the friction bringing tears to his eyes. Her palm slides smoothly over his length, setting nerves-endings he didn't knew he had aflame.

"I'll just stop talking," she smiles, giving him another toe-curling stroke.

"Don't, please don't," he finds himself saying, no longer capable of reeling himself in. "I love the sound of your voice."

"Oh!" she says again, as if she's once more surprised by the extent of his desire for her. "Well, in that case... I might as well tell you that I've been thinking about something like this for weeks... wondering what it might be like to touch you."

"You... you've thought about this?" he stammers, the shock of that revelation so great that it momentarily makes him forget about the other proceedings, no matter how mind-blowing they are.

"I have," she says, whispering the words against the side of his neck in a rush of warm air. "I never considered  _this,_  but I did hope that there would come a moment that my interest in you would be mutual and that we would be able to... indulge ourselves."

Gold doesn't know whether it's due to this discovery or the fact that, well, the woman he is so strongly attracted to is for all intents and purposes pleasuring him, but the moisture where she touches him seems to yet further increase, making the sound of her palm as it slides over his skin positively obscene.

He whimpers at the sound and sight of it, at the pleasure coiling in his abdomen. To his huge joy and relief alike, her grip remains loose and her strokes slow, as if she knows how long it has been for him and wants to make this last for him for at least a little while.

The latter becomes rather less probable when she rests her head on his shoulder and presses her face lightly against his neck, nuzzling him. He is almost undone when she kisses him there, her tongue brushing his surprisingly sensitive skin.

He groans her name, his hips bucking, having all but forgotten why they're actually doing this. It doesn't seem to matter right then and there, his for once useless mind unable to focus on anything but the physical release that's nearing.

Indeed, he's forgetting altogether about the empty container when he shuts his eyes tightly to hold off the inevitable for just a few seconds longer, every single muscle in his body going taut when pleasure he couldn't have imagined consumes him.

Then there's nothing but bliss spreading throughout him, his entire body tensing and straining when his arousal peaks. He isn't aware that she has the container at the ready in her left hand while she continues to stimulate him with the right, doing so even after she has collected his sample.

Gold just lies there as her whispered words of affection wash over him, his entire body shaking and spasming every once in a while. The rhythm of his heart and breathing slowly but surely returns to a somewhat normal speed, but all he wants is to remain in that surreal cocoon of warmth and completion.

Although his eyes are stubbornly closed, there's no escaping that he can't sense Dr. French's presence anymore, the air no longer alive with her scent and motions. Sighing, Gold tells himself that there's no point in lingering, that no amount of denial will change the fact that she's left.

His eyes fluttering open, he takes in his surroundings, needing to re-familiarize himself in a world that she made turn on its axis. Then again, it's hardly possible to believe that this is the very room where he unsuccessfully struggled by himself, convinced that she wouldn't ever be willing to touch him at all.

Glancing downwards himself, he's scarcely able to believe that the body he's looking at is the very one that just found paradise. Especially because the fly of his trousers is zipped and the button is fastened, even his belt neatly back in place. It's not surprising that there isn't even sticky proof of what just took place, but he wishes there would be at least some other physical evidence that the past few minutes were more than a dream.

Right when Gold starts to wonder what on earth he's supposed to do now, whether he should go find her or whether this is a signal that he should get out of her clinic - and out of her life - she reappears through the half open door.

"Hey," she says quietly, smiling a little.

"Hey," he dumbly echoes.

Properly looking at her for the first time since she put his thoroughly lacking world upside down, he's only more taken aback by her than usual, everything about her beyond beautiful in every sense of the word. The hint of a blush on her cheeks makes her look yet more alluring than usual.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, stepping towards him.

" _Incredible,_ " he replies, all his doubts gone when she comes to stand at his side, her smile widening.

"I've secured your sample," she says, the reminder of why all of this happened in the first place not nearly as harsh as it could have been when she places her hand on his shoulder. "I've already set in motion the procedure we discussed earlier this afternoon. But there's something else I'd like to talk about with you."

Her smile fades and there's a sudden seriousness in her voice, especially when she pulls up a chair and sits down opposite him rather than settling down right next to him once more. Gold inwardly braces himself, fearing that she's going to tell him after all that what just happened was a mistake and that she never wants to see him again.

"I didn't want to bring it up earlier in fear of... discouraging you, but I want to tell you up front that I have some doubts about the quality of your sample."

"What are you talking about?" he asks quickly, the proverbial stone in his stomach making an abrupt return. His ex wife may have not used  _this_ particular insult, but it gets unpleasantly close to the offenses she used to throw at him.

"You didn't mention in our earlier conversations that it's been a considerable time since you ejaculated," she says, her voice blessedly free of judgment.

"It's not exactly something I'm proud of," he mutters, staring at his feet. "And I didn't suppose it matters."

"I'm sorry to hear you didn't feel comfortable enough in our conversations to mention it when I asked about it," she says gently.

"It's not that," he mutters weakly, wondering how he can possibly get out of this without humiliating himself yet more – realizing only then that that's exactly what she wants to prevent. "It's just... I would have told you if I hadn't been..."

He falters, inhaling sharply. Just because he wants to tell her, doesn't exactly mean that it's easy.

"I wouldn't want you to think of me as the type of man I am."

"What sort of man would that be?"

"Old," he soldiers on, pointedly not meeting her gaze. "Solitary. Unattractive."

"I wouldn't have thought of you as any of that."

The firmness in her voice causes him to look at her after all, finding her eying him intently. The heavy silence falling between them doesn't help him figure out what she means, the perfect shade of her eyes alone more than enough to drive him to distraction.

"What I was saying about the sample you just provided... It does matter, possibly, that it's been a substantial time since you ejaculated. I haven't examined the quality of your sample yet, but there's a chance the odds of successful conception are more in your favor if you were to provide more samples."

"I see," he replies, processing this information – or rather, the implications of it.

"Mr. Gold, I want you to know that I'd be very happy to... assist you again, if the need were to arise."

"If it does  _not_ arise, you mean," he mutters without second thought, his mind spinning.

"I'd be  _very_ happy to help you out either way."

"What are you saying?!" he rasps when she covers his hand with hers, asking her to clarify despite his conviction that he didn't mishear or misunderstand her... it's just that he doesn't know what he can possibly say in response to her offer.

"Maybe I should mention the other topic I want to discuss with you at some point," she says quietly. "You've told me months ago that you can't imagine a way that you would ever have a child, a  _family_ , in the traditional way."

"I did, but I don't see how that relates to..."

"Do you still wish to have a child with an anonymous surrogate mother?" she interrupts him, squeezing his hand. "Or would you at this point consider having a child with a partner?"

Gold can only stare at her, wholly taken aback by the implicit suggestion, both in her words and in her eyes.

"I think it goes beyond saying that I  _really_  like you, Mr. Gold... and I definitely want to be a mother one day."

All he can do is nod furiously to indicate how much that notion appeals to him, words utterly failing him. Yet more than imagining a child with her eyes and his nose, he imagines  _her_ … his partner, his  _wife_ , his everything.

She's leaning towards him, angling her head questioningly, and just like that there's nothing easier than to do the same thing. He whispers her name with reverence when their faces meet for a tentative but lingering kiss on the lips, which leaves him as shaken as everything they shared before.

" _Finally_ ," she mutters when both of them withdraw, but only very slightly so, their foreheads resting against one another.

"Finally what?" he asks after a moment, something fluttering in his stomach.

"A kiss," she breathes. "I've been wanting to kiss you for..."

"For weeks?" he offers carefully, disbelievingly, recalling through a haze that she told him that she has thought about being intimate with him for that amount of time.

"For longer than that. It might have been months."

He swallows heavily at the discovery that she appears to have longed for him for as long as he has ached for her, without either of them knowing until now.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks, taking her hand between his.

"Why didn't  _you_ say anything?" she asks softly in return.

"Because I was convinced that you could never feel about me the way I do about you… because I was afraid of how you would react if I told you."

"You did a very good job of hiding your feelings, Mr. Gold."

"So did you, Dr. French."

"We can always blame professionalism. That's what I told myself at the time, at least."

"Does it bother you?" he asks, this particular concern not a primary one for him, but one that did cross his mind more than once. "That I'm your client?"

"It doesn't bother me," she replies, "but we're going to have to talk about whether you'll remain my client – or any other fertility clinic's client. For the record, you're the only client I ever wanted this way... the only person, actually."

He quivers pleasantly and ever disbelievingly at her words... or at least, until the topic of clients reminds him that it's currently the middle of the afternoon of a regular working day.

"What about your clients? Your  _other_ clients, I mean? Don't you have any appointments right now, people waiting for you?"

"I haven't," she says, sounding rather pleased. "After your appointment, I've kept my schedule free for the rest of the day."

She elaborates when he raises an eyebrow to communicate his lack of understanding.

"I wouldn't have been able to pretend to be unaffected by the knowledge that you would be masturbating a few feet away from my office. I hoped for... well, I hoped for  _something_. I didn't plan this afternoon to go as it did, but now I'm very happy that things turned out like this."

"So am I," he breathes, barely able to believe that this is truly happening, that her presence and assistance have become about so much more than functionality. "Dr. French... Belle..."

He falters, her first name both delightful and forbidden on his tongue.

"Yes?" she asks, her smile informing him that she's only pleased that he is using her given name to address her.

" _Belle_ ," he continues, her widening smile giving him the courage required to say what he wants. "It occurred to me that we haven't...  _I_  haven't... so far, we only did half of... or rather,  _you_ did. What I'm trying to say is... you made me feel so good, but I didn't touch you. Not yet. I'd very much like to remedy that."

The offer doesn't come out nearly as smoothly as Gold would have hoped, but that's forgotten when she bites her lip and looks at him with undeniable eagerness.

"Would you... would you let me... attempt to reciprocate your generosity?" he adds, his entire being filled with a courage he has never known before.

" _Definitely_ ," she grins, making her way back to the space right at his side with an enthusiasm and urgency that Gold probably won't ever get used to.


End file.
